Garage Grease and Face Paint
by Jokester666
Summary: Grease stains and the sickening scent of blood filled the garage. Crackling laughter filled it to the rim, pulling out fear, suspicion and an overwhelming sense danger.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Alrighty folks, originally Redesigning Sanity was going to be the story I entered in a convention on Muse Bunny, but it has really been on a roll for me, and I love writing it too much to wait 11 months to finish it. So Garage Grease and Face Paint came to be, in esactly 3 hours of sitting infront of a computer. Since it is part of the convention, I will be posting a chapter every month, with a min of 2500 words. It will end next August, but I really appreciate the reviews, since I am a review monger and love hearing from my readers. So please read and review, I won't be forgetting this story any time soon.

Chapter One: Breaking Glass, Breaking Smiles

Word Count: 2923

The sound of a breaking window, and the tinkling of the glass shards as they hit the concrete floor of her garage woke Kitrina Saunders up. Throwing the old duvet off her all ready dressed body, Kit reached for the ready shot gun stationed at her bedside. One could never be too careful in Gotham City, especially her side of the town.

She had lived on the streets most of her life, switching through foster families like one changes underwear. Her last foster family had been a pyro-tech couple, who she generally liked, mainly because they had understood her and stayed with her longer then others had. They had put her through courses in what one would call, learning how to blow things up for a living, and electrifying houses. At least that was what Kit called it.

Opening the loosely hinged door, which had been in need of fixing for 2 years now, Kit's suspicious brown eyes swept through the dark garage. No alarm bells were ringing, so the intruder had been smart enough to cut the wires. Silence reigned as she crouched still as a statue behind an old Ford. Kit waited for it, the telltale sound.

Crunch.

The shoe of her intruder had just taken a step onto the fallen glass. The stupidest move that was ever made by amateur thieves.

Rising above the hood of the truck, she shot off a single bullet in the direction the noise had come from. Curses and the sound of a body falling back against something greeted her. Standing straight, Kit reached out a hand to flick the switch, flooding her grease and gasoline smelling garage with light.

There he was.

Studying his bleeding form for a moment, she concluded that he was in his late teens, most likely around eighteen, with scraggly blond hair, and wearing a jumble of mix matched clothes. The navy tee shirt he wore bore a hole in sleeve and a stretching dark circle surrounding it. Dirty, hole kneed jeans and a worn out pair of Wal-Mart runners completed the bum look, and Kit knew his motives in an instant.

"Thinking about stealing from me?" Kit asked coldly, standing over his hunched form, holding the gun threateningly in her hands.

She knew that most of her tools could be sold for a fair price, same with some of the vehicles what were brought in. She had a flashy little Ferrari in for a tune up right now, and it was because of idiots like this, that she took the tires off all her vehicles before heading in for the night.

"Answer!" She growled, readying the gun for another shot, the shell falling to the ground.

A hoarse laugh came from him as he raised his eyes to stare into hers. They were dark blue, and for a moment Kit almost thought they were black. It startled her that he would laugh in a situation like this, and she found it was undermining her authority in her own shop.

Reaching down she wrapped a hand around his elbow, pulling the young man to his feet. Weak giggles were drifting from him, filling the building with their mocking sound. She pushed him over into her office. Closing the door firmly behind the two, Kit motioned for him to sit on the cot where she had previously been slumbering in.

KKKKKKKKKK

The office was almost a grey blue in colour and contained a scratched desk covered in papers and a computer screen sitting precariously on top. The wireless keyboard had been tossed unceremoniously onto the mountains of paper next to a abandoned cup of what he guessed was coffee. Posters and pictures of various sport car models were tacked to the wall in an orderly way. A open binder of real life photographs showed off every car she had worked on, and a single grinning photo was placed on top. It portrayed a teenage girl in baggy pants, crop top, waving a wrench and covered in patches of grease, the expression on her face however showed she didn't care about the grim on her, the carefree grin and happiness in her eyes proved that.

KKKKKKKKKK

Resting the shotgun carefully on her jumbled desk, she reached into a open drawer for the battered first aid kit. He watched her, still chuckling to himself, while she threaded a sterilized needle and locked his own fingers together.

"Wanna hear a joke?" He asked.

A short answered no was returned to him, and his face fell for a moment.

"You gotta good shot yah know? Just skimmed my arm, you can like, I dunno. Throw me out now?"

The swift glare from her silenced him, and she brought out a knife, which caused a apprehensive look to enter his eyes. Ignoring the look, Kit sawed off his sleeve to get better access to the wound. It was normal for her to clean up after her little misfires. Kit didn't need him going to the cops, it was bad enough that she was suspected of being a major firearms dealer.

"Why did you break in?" She asked, cleaning the wound with some alcohol. Kit earned a hiss for her efforts before he muttered darkly, "Needed the money."

"For what? You look like a smart kid, young enough to be in school still. Too young to be playing with the sharks yet, though I have seen some punks that ought to still be in middle school trading drugs on the side of the road with some shifty folk," Kit replied calmly, starting the first stitch, drawing the needle through his pale skin slowly.

"Owe some people, simply as that, and you don't need know any more," he snapped at her, tensing the muscles in his arm.

KKKKKKKKKKKKK

He didn't like her questions, not one bit. They were too personal, and he wasn't sure if she would go to the cops. Dealing with mobs, and small time criminals, made him leery of anyone interested in him.

The last time he had allowed anyone in, they had betrayed his trust, or at least what trust he had left. Money wasn't a constant thing in his life, nor was a steady line of work. True he could go work in some fast food restaurant, but he was better then that.

When he had snapped at the woman sewing him back together, he made the mistake of tensing up, causing a shot of pain to race up his arm. A mask was in place, and he ignored the stabbing throb from the bullet wound the little bit of a thing had given him.

For that was what she was. His first look at her was in shadows, and she could have been taken for some little home keeper, perhaps a wife to a business man. Second glance however, showed a far more dangerous person. The cold, calculating look was fixated in her brown eyes, and her stance was one he knew well. She was someone who had gone through the rough spots and grown better for it.

The woman wore beige cargo pants, a red tank top, and all of it looked like it had been stained with grease at one time or another. Straight, dark hair was pulled up in a rough ponytail and the ruffled look of her clothing and faded smudge of makeup on her face indicated she had been sleeping when the window had broke.

Jake was distracted from his thoughts when she spoke again.

"Fair enough, kid, I don't need to know any more." She had tied up the last stitch and was putting away the needle and thread.

Looking over her handy work, he was pleased to see a neat set of stitches knitting the skin together. Rustling came from Kit's direction as she rummaged through a old box, puling out a faded, but usable black shirt.

KKKKKKKKKKK

"Here kid, you'll need this." She tossed him the old shirt. It had belonged to some old boyfriend of hers, and Kit had almost forgotten about it till now, when she had thought about replacing the smelly shirt he wore.

Pulling the dark coloured and rather ripped shirt over his head and off, Kit examined him critically. His pale body was thin, but rippled with muscle, and the evidence of knife wounds. A long slash traced it's way across his chest and another one made a lone line along his abdomen.

"What do you do kid?" Kit asked curiously, she had an inkling of the kind of work he was into.

KKKKKKKKKKK

The cool air in her converted office hit his skin, and goose bumps played their way along his arms, making the hair rise. Her questions bothered him, but this one was realistic. She might be looking for someone to be a hit man, or to make a deal for her. He had found that garage owners weren't always fixing up old cars, they had their own business in the back, that had nothing to do with Bob's Auto or Joe's Quick Fixer.

The sign outside had simply stated KISS Auto, repairs and tune ups. What the KISS stood for was beyond him.

"Odd jobs, whatever I can get." Jake shrugged, before yanking the old, but thankfully cleaner shirt over his blond head and then shot her a glance, "So what does KISS stand for?"

A smirk played on her features as she sat down in the beat up leather chair. For a old chair, it was comfortable and no matter how much money she made, Kit loved this chair. She had found it in a old pawn shop when she had first opened her garage, paying a grand total of 15 for it.

"Hmmm, KISS? Well it's my name. Kitrina Isobel Samantha Saunders. To be honest, I hated my name, what person drops their kid off at the foster center with two middle names? Especially when they have already given the kid some stuck up, overly uptown name to begin with?" Kit shook her head ruefully, "The only good thing was the initials, which I used when I bought this crap assed place. It has come a long ways though, from being some junk dealership to a working garage."

Pulling out a small automatic handgun from the same drawer as her first aid bag, Kit caressed the handle thoughtfully for a moment.

She locked eyes with him, "Which is why no one steals off Kit Saunders. Not mob bosses or big time criminals. No, they know better, much better. But you, you dared to. Despite being a nobody you broke in. Who do you think you are?"

"Jake. Listen lady, all I needed was the money, I owe some debts and they told me if I could get in here, I would be able to pay off what I owe." Jake shifted nervously on her cot, ready to beat it out of the building any second now.

Kit stood, placed the gun down and said, "Get up, your leaving."

He responded quickly, making his way out the door, followed closely by the garage owner. A quick glance down a narrow hallway to his right showed off a bathroom and a door to what he presumed was the back room. Jake honestly didn't think she legally owned all those guns, or at least had permits for half of them.

They had reached the car entrance, and Kit pulled on the chain, drawing the large garage door upwards, enough so that the boy could easily walk out.

Splashes of rain hit them and the light from inside sneaked out to shed itself on the wet pavement. Jake's dark eyes looked out, searching for something. She watched him steadily, as he relaxed an inch and stepped out into the downpour.

As he was walking away, Kit called out. "Come through the front door next time, and stay out of trouble!"

He turned to acknowledge her, and she threw a Swiss army knife out, skidding through the puddles to land at his feet. Jake kneeled down and picked it up, before straightening and looking for the mechanic again. She had already closed the door, cutting off the almost comforting source of light.

Jake pocketed the weapon, and hunched his shoulders against the rain. Not that it would do much, he was almost soaked to the bone already.

KKKKKKKKKKK

Kit watched from the window of her garage as he took the knife and disappeared into the darkness. She didn't know it but that wouldn't be the last time she saw the boy named Jake.

KKKKKKKKKKK

As he entered his scanty old apartment, one he could barely afford to keep, despite how cheap the rent was, Jake received a stunning blow to his stomach. Bent over, gasping for breath, he felt more punches land firmly on his back and sides. Falling to the ground, Jake wheezed out his pain, clutching his arms around his sore stomach in hopes of protecting himself.

"Did you get the money, freak?" Came the cold voice of Peter Shim, the man he had been borrowing money from.

"I promise-" A kick landed on him, and Jake gasped in pain.

"I don't care for promises, freak."

Jake's eyes fluttered as he tried to concentrate, his vision was coming in and out of focus and finally the towering figure of Pete came into view.

The man was built like a barge, wide, but without a ounce of fat on him. Street folk said he used to be some sort of body guard before he killed his employer and took off with a fair amount of money. Pete was a bit of a drug dealer, and owned a chain of hair salons, strange as that was for a big guy like him. He wore tailored suits, with price tags Jake couldn't even dream of.

How the golden haired boy had come to get in the bad books of Pete was when Jake started borrowing money. Now interest on the black market was by far higher then the interest you would find in a bank. It also didn't have any insurance and the due date kept changing. If Pete wanted the money, and it was wanted, not needed, for Pete never needed money, you got it for him. By any means.

"I got shot at by-" Jake started as he dragged himself upright, leaning his beaten body haphazardly on some unopened boxes.

With a flick of his wrist, Pete motioned for his men to search the kid. They dragged patted him down and upon finding the knife, they left him and handed it to their boss. The smooth talking man flicked open the blade and knelt down beside the boy.

"Shot at, huh? Why aren't yah dead? The garage owner of KISS doesn't take kindly to intruders, and you were one dumb clown to listen to us. You know, freak, it wasn't about the money, no, not at all. It was about the message, and now we're going to give a message to you."

Jake's mind was running wildly, what were they going to do to him?

The two bodyguard like henchmen held Jake down as fear flooded the boy's eyes. His struggles, weak at first became more frantic as Pete brought the knife closer to his face.

"You know, for a young clown like you, you are far too serious? So freak, put a smile on that face for Uncle Pete. No? Well then, why so serious?"

The knife closed in, and the older man grabbed Jake's face, holding him still. He could feel the cold metal enter his mouth and blinding pain take over his senses, dulling them as it ripped up the side of his face.

KKKKKKKKKK

Laughter was on Pete's lips as he wiped the blood off the blade with a old rag he had found in the kid's dumpy kitchen. Marcus, his bodyguard had stitched the boy up roughly, and Pete admired his work. A stretching smile was now carved into the kid's face, making him more of a clown then he knew. Blood was still seeping from the wound and had been pouring it's way down from the initial cuts. After he had finished with the first half of the smile, Jake had passed out from the pain, quite to the disappointment of Pete's men.

KKKKKKKKKK

Jake opened his eyes slowly, throbbing pain bursting on his cheeks, in hot bubbles. All he could think about was what they had done to him, and seeing them there, sitting in his kitchen, playing poker, broiled his blood. His hand reached in the box behind him for the heavy crowbar.

Rage burned in his eyes as he slowly stood, hunched over.

"Hey look, the clown is awake," Marcus said, standing up, pushing his chair back, "What do you think you are going do with that, freak?"

Pete was shocked when he heard the voice coming from the usually goofy looking kid. It was gruff, dark and dangerous. The kind of voices people associate with things you don't want to run into in a back ally at midnight.

"I am not-" The boy started, paused and continued, "Not a freak."

Raising the crowbar in his hand, Jake's mind was flooded with red, and the screams from the three men before him as he murdered them, had no effect. The only thing they seemed to do was urge the young man onward, though inside it was slowly, but surely unscrewing every bit of sanity the boy named Jake had left.


	2. Chapter 2

-1Aright, welcome to the next chapter of Garage Grease and Face Paint. Terribly disappointed with my review count, but no matter. For those of you who haven't figured it out, this is my version of how the Joker became what he is. Thank you to the lovely two who did comment, you really made my day : Bellus, and Pretty Much A Big Deal

I have a informative site up for my stories, a kind of extra's thing. It is my homepage on my author's page. Currently I am providing a detailed story on Kit, a kind of bio, if you will. Includes pictures of what she might look like through various parts of the story. I also have her collection of cars in there. Some have not appeared yet, but other's have, such as the Hummer, also there are some bikes in there too. If you have any suggestions for makes and models, feel free to inform me. I don't have a handy dandy auto junkie to help with such decisions. Oh and check out my author's page for the words and phrases for this months contest.

Chapter 2

Word Count: 2900-ish

Blood weeping down his checks, the man rose from his crouching position, Swiss army knife in hand. This too was covered in blood, as were the unusually pale hands. Staggering, he made his way to the white bathroom, smearing blood across the walls as he used them to hold his weight up.

His dark eyes caught sight of a yellow duck sitting on the bathtub ledge, and a throaty laugh bubbled up, and he crackled, "Yes, playing with rubber duckies is so mature,"

Reaching a hand out, he stabbed the duck.

KKKKKKKKKK

_**Earlier…**_

Kit closed up the garage, watching the boy disappear into the night. She had a feeling he would need that knife eventually. A quiet beeping sound was resounding through her shop, and Kit turned to see the alarm clock through her battered office door blinking angry red numbers at her. 1:00 am.

It was time to work.

Entering the bathroom, Kit scrounged under the sink till she found a bottle of face wash. Opening it, she dislodged a small key from under the cap. Taking the brass object to the blank door, she rammed it in the lock hurriedly, there wasn't much time, and it would do no good to be late.

Tossing junk around, Kit shoved aside an old box containing a battered and useless mixing bowl, unstrung tennis racket and a damaged kite. Underneath was a blackened rug and as she rolled that up, a trap door was revealed.

Most of the shipment ha already been loaded in her vehicle, but the most dangerous one hadn't been. A long rectangular box was hefted out carefully and with deft fingers she closed the hidden door, tossed the rug over it and kicked the box back into place. If tonight's gig was up heaved by Batman or the police, then she could ditch the car, and hide out for a bit. Even if they tried to uproot her shop, there was going to be nothing criminal in the slightest left behind.

KKKKKKKKKKK

Revving the Hummer lightly, Kit shifted in her seat. The personal garage door at the back of her shop opened to a deserted ally. The ominous look of the abandoned street was familiar, and Kit had nothing to fear from its depths. Cruising out, the black hulk of the vehicle was the only car in sight, everyone else was in hiding from the criminals of the night.

It took her half an hour to reach her destination. Gotham's docks. The warehouse buildings loomed over her as she waited, leaning against her car, liquid brown eyes peering into the dark corners. Her attention was captured as pale headlights dimly flashed on the walls around the directed meeting place.

A black car, followed by several SUV's of the same colour, pulled into the area. Kit tensed up, prepared to spring back into the Hummer. It was perhaps unwise to bring such a flashy car to a deal like this, but currently there was nothing in her garage that would hold the heavy cargo.

The man that stepped out of the car was clearly recognizable. His beige suit seemed to gleam in the pale moonlight and he signalled over to the other cars, as he made his way towards her.

"Kitrina." He acknowledged her with an incline of his head and her given name.

Relaxing from her tense state, into the easy going stature she normally had, Kit nodded back, "Maroni."

Her eyes swept through the group of men he had brought with him. Most had guns on them, either visible, or hidden by their leather coats.

"Do you have what I ordered?" Sal Maroni asked smoothly, folding his hands in front of him.

"Yeah, in the back," As soon as she said that, several men disembarked and popped open the back of the Hummer, and began to carry out the boxes in there. "Careful with that," She warned one of the men as he picked up one of the longer wooden boxes.

In undertone she commented to Maroni, "That's the Bazooka."

He nodded, not looking at her, instead carefully watching the goods shift vehicles. As soon as the last box was out, he waved his driver over. The man had been standing by the car, and at Sal's gesture, he picked up a single suitcase, walking over and passing it to his boss.

Sal took it gracefully, popped it open, revealing the last payment, all carefully stacked and bound. Kit barely looked down at the money, she knew they wouldn't dare double cross her. They had all heard the story about the last group to mess with Kit Saunders. It had not been a pleasant one.

"It was lovely dealing with you again, I hope to see you sometime in the future." Sal commented, passing the now closed case over to her. Kit took it and nodded absently before asking, "Have you heard anything about the new punk, Pete?"

Kit referred to most small time gangs and imitation mobs by the leader's first name. New comers, no matter what their age, were always called punks by Kit. They hadn't gained her respect nor did she like dealing with them. Cheques would bounce, and she would have to bother to take time out of her schedule to track the new client down and deal with it.

"Shim?" Maroni scoffed, frowning, "Why ever would you worry about him? He's small time, hires the street kids to make deals. Very unprofessional. Though he has been trying to send some cocaine, and meth through us. He owe you money or something?"

She shook her head, "No, but he's been pushing the drugs through my part of town. I don't like it, you know I don't abide substances in my territory."

"Hmm, yes, I do. Do you need someone to take care of him for you?" Sal asked nonchalantly. To be honest he only offered out of some deep sense of affection for his dealer. He had dealt with Kit for years now, ever since she had hooked up with his previous dealer, Marcus. When the old man kicked the bucket, Kit had taken over, moved the business to a rundown building, which later became KISS Auto, and dealt with Marcus's clients through there. Sal had been rather happy with the new premises, not to mention the slightly better tempered young woman that ran it. Marcus had been a sour bugger, suspicious, and paranoid to boot.

"I think I'll go talk to him myself. He has that crappy knock off of a Sedan doesn't he?" Kit referred to Pete's painted over, cheap as hell car.

Sal simply rolled his eyes, "Yes, and in that obnoxious red too."

He turned and left, Kit watched the line of SUV's follow his car, before turning to enter her Hummer. By the time she left the docks, the digital clock said it was 3:00.

Rubbing her eyes tiredly with one hand, Kit sighed. It would be a bugger dealing with Pete Shim, he had more arrogance then most new comers, not to mention he believed women should stay at home and care for the house, have the three kids, and a dog kind of deal. Sliding a hand through her hair, Kit ruffled it up a bit. She had since taken it down from her ponytail and the straight scene cut fell about her face. Restless eyes took in the scenery as she passed. Forlorn looking apartment buildings and dusty shops with sad looking closed signs marked the side walk. The only relief about tonight was that neither Batman nor the police had shown up. Not that the police would have been much of a worry, the mob bosses owned this town, and police only came to the docks when forced.

Kit suddenly stopped, checked behind her and reversed. The car she stopped next to was an painted over rust bucket of a car. Pete Shim's, to be exact. He didn't take care of his vehicle like some men do, instead it was out in the weather all the time, and Kit was surprised he still had it. Most cars left out were stolen by wanna-be thieves, or the desperate. Of course, once she thought about it, who would want it? The thing was in other words, butt ugly.

Gearing into park, Kit narrowed her eyes, grabbed her handgun and leapt out. Closing the door softly behind her, and shoving the gun into the back of her cargo pants, Kit tapped the window of the old beater. Slowly it was rolled down, except one couldn't describe it as rolling. The car had wind up windows, and the glass was being pulled down in a jerky motion by the driver.

"Yes?" A nervous voice asked. The driver looked to be in his late teens, the kind of kid who was easily bullied into things. Mousy brown hair, dorky glasses and wide blue eyes, which was followed by the rumbled polo shirt.

"Pete up there?" Kit gestured up to the single yellow light that was on third floor of the building. All the other apartment windows were dark and empty looking, giving a deep sense of unease.

A stuttering yes came from the boy's lips and Kit nodded lightly before turning around and striding to the door, pulling it open and letting it fall back close behind her.

KKKKKKKKKK

The boy gulped, he had seen the automatic stuck in the waistband of her pants. He realized just exactly what he had unwittingly signed up for and slunk down in his seat, clutching the steering wheel until his knuckled were white. The rounded glasses slipped down his nose as sweat dripped from his forehead.

He looked terrified and kept whispering to himself, "Should have gone to college, got a real job, something safe…college, job, safe. Stupid."

It seemed like something hit him from out of the blue as he brought the engine to life, spurred the junk car into reverse and peeled out of there at a speedy pace that made the tires squeal.

He wasn't going to be in town the following morning, he decided.

KKKKKKKKKK

Kit paused as she began to ascend the stairs, a smirk playing on her lips when she heard the squeal coming from the tires. She could just imagine the smoke and rubber left on the road from his hasty departure. This would make things even sweeter, Pete Shim would have to walk home, or catch a cab. The apartment building obviously wasn't his hangout, despite the dirt and what she imagined was cheap rent. He wouldn't have left the kid outside waiting for him, this much she knew.

Continuing her way to the third floor, she watched the floor, looking for the light leaking from under one of the doorways. Coming upon it, Kit was slightly surprised that the door was open slightly, and as she nudged it with the toe of her boot, Kit was hit with the smell of blood. Shock and revulsion shook her features and she stepped back to regain herself.

Breathing in and closing her eyes, the brunette stepped through the entrance; into a bloodbath.

The scene that meet her eyes was not pleasant, there was bright red blood dripping down the walls and three distinctly male bodies were piled in the corner; Kit had to hold in the sickness that threatened to over whelm her. It was some sick vision that looked like it should have been found in a horror movie.

"That really made my day."

Kit turned slowly, riveting on the spot. In the doorway of the bathroom stood the kid. The one that had broken in that very evening.

"Jake?" She whispered, horrified at what she presumed he had done. He stepped out into the light, and her eyes widened.

He was a mess.

Wearing only torn up and rather blood-soaked pants, she could see every injury on his body. Jake's chest was riddled with bruises, and a new slash had been made across his arm. The most sickening sight was his face, he looked like Chucky. His mouth had been cut open on each side, stitched up and dark bruises encircled his eyes, making the dark illusion of a monster.

Gathering herself together, Kit mustered up her voice, "We have to get you out of here!"

"Why? To spread cheese and crackers? What a silly little toddler you are Miss Kitty!" The amusement in his face was insane, and for a moment there Kit wondered what the hell he was going on about.

Then he hit the floor face first.

KKKKKKKKKK

Kit grunted as she hefted his body down the stairs, his weight being upheld by her shoulder as she manoeuvred them to her truck. The kid weighed a ton!

Letting him rest on the dirty cement may not have been a good idea, but it was the only option at the moment. Setting him down, she leaned over his body and opened the side door. Inwardly cringing at the mess he would make in her car, she dragged him up again and pushed his body onto the bench seat in the back.

He groaned a bit, and then went silent. Slamming the door shut, Kit looked around with worried eyes, and then, satisfied that no one had seen her, she hopped into the driver's seat and left. She was going to take every short cut known to man kind to get back to her garage. There was going to be hell to pay once she sorted everything out.

"Chicken biscuits are good, but ham tarts are better."

Kit looked in her mirror and saw that he was semi conscious, or in any case dreaming. Worry creased her forehead as she tried to figure out what to do. Take him to the police, or her garage? If she dropped him off at the department, they would ask questions, and the first one would be why she was out so late.

Kit shook her head, he would have to come back to her shop.

KKKKKKKKKKK

She tried to regulate her breathing as the large garage door closed slowly. Her hands were still wrapped around the steering wheel, and all the arrogant confidence she usually gave off was gone. No past events could have prepared her for the kid sitting in her back seat.

Speaking of which…

"Wanna hear a joke?" His voice was lilting and dark, almost as though he was trying to convince her he was the safest thing alive.

Kit just left the car, opened the door and strode off across the grey cement floor, her boots making not a sound against the hard flooring.

"Hey! Come back here Miss Kitty!" Came his yelp, as he lumbered out of the Hummer and after her form.

She turned at his voice, fury on her face, "Call me Miss Kitty again, and I will tear you limb from limb."

His eyes sparkled again, "Sounds fun!"

Jake followed after her again as she wove between polished cars, up some spiralling steps and through a door, which lead to what he presumed was the living quarters.

They overlooked both sides of the garage and he marvelled at the difference. A fancy looking Porsche was among the other high end cars and the bright coloured street bikes made the faded Ford and silver Ferrari look like nothing. The customer side, though in working order, was stained, stinking of gas and who knows what else. Her personalised garage was free of clutter and not a drop of oil seemed to have ever hit the pristine floor.

Something warm dripped onto his bare chest, and Jake looked down to see a splash of blood. He wiped it off with his finger and licked his finger, letting the metallic taste mingle.

Kit wrinkled her nose in disgust, "Must you insist upon putting that there?"

Jake glanced at her and muttered, "Don't want me to bleed on your flooring?'

She rolled her eyes and tossed him a first aid kit, which was in more order then the one in her disorganised office. After directing him to the bathroom, he began to clean his face up again. More blood had been dripping down his face, and he chuckled in mirth, relishing in the pain as his cheeks strained against the thread that held them together.

A growl came from the other room, and he wondered briefly if Kit had been an animal in some other life.

"I've torn the place apart for my jacket, but I still can't find it!"


	3. Chapter 3

-1**Author's Note**: Well here is another great chapter, this one I was really inspire for. It came to me while staring at my poster of the Joker and listening to the band Within Temptation. Poster (curtsy of my good friend Meaghan, I couldn't believe it when she pulled it out at school for me. Now it hangs next to Captain Jack Sparrow . )

Thank you to my readers, especially those who reviewed! Though I am still sad not as many people read this one, compared to Redesigning Sanity.

**Jadalia: **Yes he did, didn't he?

**Debronze: **Thank you so much for reviewing, I love hearing that people are loving my works.

I just wanted to share something from Debronze that absolutely made my day when I read it:

Hey no problem! And take your time with the next chapter, don't rush anything  
=). And I'm really confused to why you don't have many reviews...I find that  
some stories that aren't very good have a lot of reviews yet the ones that are  
like really good such as yours, people miss out on.

**October's Words**

**1. **Bracelet  
**2.** Fuzzy bunny slippers  
**3.** Minty breath  
**4.** Blankie  
**5. **Garlic Bread  
**6.** _"And I'm a hula dancer, now what do you have to say?"  
_**_7._**_ "I put myself in a sticky situation and can't get out!"  
_**_8._**_ "Too much info! Too much info!"  
_**_9._**_ "And I was just beginning to have fun..."  
_**_10. _**_"Could you move away a little bit? Just a little bit? Perfect. Thanks"_

Word Count: 2551(excluding above)

Her voice was low and grating, and he leaned his upper body out, winching with a smile as sparkling pain washed over his body. She was standing in front of a black wardrobe, hands on her hips, staring at the contents which seemed to have no organisation in the slightest. It was almost as though she purposely kept it like that and the idea seemed plausible to him. How does one find something in a mess they didn't make? It was a good safety net, should anyone search her place. For what though was beyond Jake.

The outline of her back was to him and she started pulling drawers open in search of this jacket of hers. Why she need the item was beyond him and he went back to trying to keep his face blood free. A difficult feat, but one he relished. The quick swipe of the cotton ball against skin, creating a grisly smile, morbidly fascinated him to great extents. Soon he just let it weep down and his feverish eyes watched hungrily. A faintness came to him and his body swayed dangerously. Bracing himself against the door, he whispered to himself, "And I was just beginning to have fun…"

His legs gave out at the moment, and he hated the weakness that forced him to the ground. Jake promised himself, he would never be this weak again, weakness was failure, and failure was for the average. As the room swam in and out of focus, he saw the strangest sight. A pair of fuzzy bunny slippers were hopping towards him, and he giggled, reaching out to smoother them with his bare hands.

KKKKKKKKKK

Kit glanced over her shoulder, the missing jacket in hand. It had her supply of fresh mints in it along with her cell. She didn't like having a personal landline, and used the cell instead. It would be all too easy for the police to tap her phone line, and her mob deals didn't need to come to their attention. Though in the state Gotham was in, she doubted they could do much about it. There were more corrupt cops then honest ones, and it played into her hands nicely. It was like having the best hand at a poker table.

Seeing his body slumping and his eyes flicker, worried Kit. He might have a concussion and he couldn't fall asleep for a few hours yet. It was bad enough he had passed out at the apartment. She was no doctor, and therefore didn't know what damage could happen while he slept, but she wasn't going to take a chance. There was still info to badger from him; such as who those men where, despite she had a sickening idea of what one of the men's identities was, what kind of trouble Jake was in, and what the hell had happened to him.

She rushed to his side in her ridiculous slippers, and leaned over him to prop him up. Her actions though calm, seemed harried and her eyes wove about frantically.

"Jake?"

KKKKKKKKKKKK

His eyes fluttered, and attempted to refocus. It was the minty breath that came from above like an angel descending into hell that brought him out of his revere. The garage owner was looking down on him, her dark hair wreathing her pale worried face, and he muttered, "I feel a tad dandy dizzy? Don't you, Kitty Kat?"

KKKKKKKKKK

Kit ignored the name calling, and instead pulled out the silver phone to call Maroni. She usually didn't make contact with him, it was him that called her to arrange the deal, but this was an emergency. Clutching the phone to her ear, she listened impatiently to the ringing buzz. After about seven rings, she gave up. Sal was not answering. Either that or he had switched numbers on her. It was common to have more then one phone to make deals, and she supposed this was the number he used for her.

Throwing the useless cell phone over her shoulder, and shook Jake's shoulder, trying to keep him conscious.

His eyes fluttered and he was muttering strange drabbles under his breath, "Cotton candy sheep, they're everywhere, WATCH OUT!" Jake shot up looking around frantically and caught her shocked gaze, "Could you move away a little bit? Just a little bit? _Perfect. _Thanks. The can can tarts don't have enough room to perform!"

She rocked back on her heels at his request, bewildered as to what on earth had happened to him to make him this strange being who yelled nonsense. Something deep in him had snapped, and he sprung almost drunkenly to his feet, and Kit followed his movement with her eyes.

He spun suddenly on his heel, staring straight at her and proclaimed, "I'm a clown, I hate clowns."

Frowning at this remark, she replied back sarcastically, "And I'm a hula dancer, now what do you have to say?"

Jake responded with a high pitched giggle and he clutched at his bruised sides, gasping slightly. She honestly hoped he hadn't broken any rips, though the possibility was high. There would have to be some way of finding a doctor in this mess that would keep his trap shut… or else.

She rose slowly, wary of his behaviour. Perhaps it would be best if he slept, but she could remember someone telling her that if you had a concussion and slept, there was a chance you would never wake up again.

He sank down into her leather couch and his voice whispered, childlike, " I want a blankie, I want my blankie, blankie, blankie blankie!" Jake wailed, and threw his hands down each time he voiced the command.

Uncertainty gnawed at her, and Kit reached out to her closet and pulled out a black 'blankie'. Holding it out to him, Jake snatched it from her, and pulled it over himself. His eyes were wide, and had no intention of sleeping. Coiling up, arms wrapped around her knees, she stared back at him. His eyes were dark, and it unnerved her for a moment, before she forced herself to overcome the unease. Weakness was defeat on her part, and Kit had worked to hard to defend herself from any show of being a weak woman. The path she had chosen in life allowed for no quarter, and she usually gave no quarter back if they deserved it.

"What happened?" She asked, her tone quiet.

His eyes flickered to hers, and silenced reigned, until he whispered, "They called me a freak. I'm not-" Jake's voice broke and he looked away, "-Not a freak! I'm no clown either, they were the ones that needed the message, see it's all part of the plan. I have no plan, but it is all part of it." Catching her gaze again, he continued more steadily, "You are part of the plan."

"I am? Why?" Kit wasn't liking how the conversation was heading, and she most certainly didn't like his last words. Being part of the plan was echoing something along the lines of being part of the team, and she didn't do anything but solo. Being alone was no issue, it was a safeguard.

"You'll see in the end Miss Kitty, you'll see. You're gunna change things, you already have."

This was unsettling to hear, and she hoped to steer him away from the current gossip.

"What did you do to Pete Shim? I need to know Jake."

"Pete? Oh, good ol Pete. He died. Wanna hear how?" Kit nodded, encouraging him to continue.

A dreamy look entered his eyes as he began describing it to her, "See he got his goony boys to beat me up. They took that knife. My knife… gave it to Pete Boy see? He laughed, he was enjoying my pain, oh yeah." A menacing rasp was darkening his voice, "He called me a clown, a freak. Said he had a message that needed to be made. They held me down, like so." As he told his story, Jake had stood up lurking over her like some dark shadow. At his last words he had roughly grasped her arms, pinning her to the chair.

"Pete took the knife, held it to my face," Now he mimicked holding a knife to her, "And shoved the blade in my mouth," His firm fingers grasped her chin, forcing her gaze to be drawn to him.

"Said I needed to smile more, that I was too serious for a young clown like me. That made me smile."

Jake let her arms drop to her sides and backed off to the couch, collapsing into it. She expected that he was done, but his dark voice continued it's dreary tale. Rubbing her arms to try and regain a sense of feeling.

"I woke up to pain, hot splashing pain. Felt good, real good. I had never felt more alive! They were playing poker at my table, my table. I took the crowbar. I hit Marcus. I smashed his head in. It cracked like a-"

She couldn't stand it any more, "Too much info! Too much info!"

He was silenced for but a moment, "So why so serious, Miss Kitty?"

A incredulous look was flashed at him, and he blinked innocently back. "Why so serious? I'll tell you why, I put myself in a sticky situation and can't get out!"

"Sticky situation Miss Kitty?"

"Stop that! No more cat calls, and yes sticky. I have a murderer in my home!" Kit tugged at her hair nervously, true she herself was no saint, but to listen to him describe so detailed, it was sickening her. He would have to leave, and yet something inside of her wouldn't allow for tossing him out. It was her own past that prevented this.

_Being left holding onto her big sister's hand at the door of yet another guardian._

_Standing tall and silent as they lowered the encased body of her pale sister into the dirt grave. She could clearly remember her sister's features. Bleached hair, that shined like the sun, cold blue eyes that used to laugh merrily at their escapes. The sister who broke, who came home smelling each night of dope and beer. Who cried herself to sleep, and yet promised everything was going to be okay._

_The fights…_

_The feeling of abandonment, as she stood in front of a different door each year, only this time there was no pillar of strength holding her hand. _

Kit snapped out of it, pushing those thoughts to the far corners of her mind. She stood, and marched over to the small crowded resemblance of a kitchen. Digging around in the pantry, she pulled out a stick of bread. The smell reached his nose and he perked up, "Garlic bread, garlic bread to keep your vampire friend out. Good idea Miss Kitty!"

It was overly tempting to smack him with the said garlic bread, but she didn't want to see another bruise form on his pale body. Instead she broke off part of it and tossed it to him. Flopping back into her chair she munched on her own piece. Looking down over her shop, she could see the lightening of the sky. It must be close to five now, she mused.

The shop would be closed for the rest of the day until she decided what to do with Jake, her life, and how she was going to clean the mess up. He was dangerous to have around, but it would be better that he was here then out on the streets causing mayhem. True Kit supplied the mob and other small gangs with the means to destroy the city, but she didn't support the madmen that ran the town. The only true word to describe them would be villain. Rumours of the Scarecrow haunted the street and she worked hard to keep his drugs out of her territory. Since the death of her sister to the vile substance, she couldn't stand it. It had destroyed her life, and she planned on keeping it from destroying some other kid's life.

Silence weighed heavily on the room, until the faint sound of snoring could be heard from the couch.

Sleep tried to take her, but Kit fought back. It was not time to succumb to it, no matter how desperately she wanted to. There were some calls to make, and she retrieved the fallen phone, and left the top floor to head downstairs.

Locking herself in the office, she was about to make a call to find a doctor who worked under the rules of Gotham, when her phone rang. Answering it she heard the fluid voice of Sal Maroni on the other end.

"What the hell did you do to Pete?"

"What!" She replied hurriedly, having no time to step about it delicately.

"My boys found him. His driver was leaving Gotham in that crappy car and we pulled him over, seeing as you were wanting to have a little chat with Shim. The kid said he'd dropped Pete off a the apartments, apparently to meet up with some kid named Jake. Also confessed to seeing a dark haired woman, around twenty five, thirty-ish, packing an automatic and looking for Pete. Told me that you'd gone up to get him as he left."

Sal was silent for a moment, "You want to know what I did? I sent out some of my boys and they find a mutilated Pete Shim, Marcus Macon, and Geoff Phillips. So you want to tell me what the hell you did?"

"Nothing." Kit retained the firm coolness that she was known for and commented, "That's how I found them. Tried to get hold of you, but no answer." She withheld the fact she had been calling to see if he could get his shifty doc down here to look at the kid that had committed the crime.

"I see. And why should I believe that?"

"I've never double crossed you, never lied, and I don't give a care if you don't believe me, Maroni. I got a kid who looks like hell it's self, is off his rocker and killed three guys last night."

"Two."

"Two? You mean one of em is still alive?" This shocked her, from the amount of blood in there, she had imagined them all dead.

"Geoff is still holding on, can't speak, his tongue was removed. You got to get rid of the kid, Kit, he'll only screw you over."

"Let me deal with him, can you cover for me?" It was a stretch asking him to do this for her, but there was no way anything could be found by the police. If Gordon knew about it, had any idea she was involved, it would only be another mark against her.

"Already done, you owe me Kit. I'll be around tomorrow." The line crackled and went dead.

Kit nodded to herself and put the phone down. "Thanks Sal," she whispered, the only sound audible in the emptiness of the shop, as she fingered the wide leather bracelet on her wrist. Underneath it was hidden a tattoo of three black dice, a remembrance of the first time she had met the young Maroni.

Sighing, she leaned back in the worn chair and let sleep over take her.


	4. Note

Hey guys, terribly sorry for not updating in what.. Like a couple months? I've been busy busy busy with acting and whatnot. Plus my principles math class is murderering me. :( An update for Garage Grease is coming in a few days and the update for Redesigning Sanity will be coming in the new year. Merry Christmas to all, and hope the holidays are wonderful! Thank you to my awesome reviewers and readers as well as my Beta, SecretStrangeAngel. Oh and please wish me luck on finishing 3.5 K word story in a week. I'll be posting the link to it on my profile once the competition is completed. As for christmas, I'm finding inspiration in the Twilight SoundTrack. Luv ya guys!

Jokester


	5. Chapter 4

**Wow, so I thought I'd published this a long while back, and apon reading it again on , i realized with horror, that i hadn't. So here it is. Shorter then probably intended, but it's a start, seeing as i haven't updated anything since Christmas. It ties in with Redesigning Sanity, for those of you who haven't noticed that.**

**KKKKKKKKKKKKKKk**

"The last time I woke someone that had a fire arm within reach, I got shot."

Kit's mind came to consciousness as she heard a wary voice comment. Automatically she reached for her gun, releasing the safety catch as she opened her eyes. Jerking up she aimed it at the voice. Blinking rapidly, she saw Sal Maroni giving her a easy smile, the soft humour was ever present in his eyes. Standing next to him was a middle-aged man wearing a loose suit and holding onto a case. His eyes were centered on the gun pointing at him, and his hands shook lightly.

"Morning Kitrina." Sal said easily, crossing his arms and leaning against the side of her desk. A jerky nod was given from the man beside him.

Sighing wearily, Kit replaced the safety guard on it and relaxed back into her chair. Her muscles were stiff and she twisted her shoulders to relieve them of the knots she felt. "Who is this?" She nodded to the quiet man beside Sal.

"Doctor Pikes. You said the kid looked like hell. I presumed third black base." He said smoothly, and a wiry grin came to Kit's face. Third black base meant the victim was almost dead, it was an old code for them. Fourth meant the victim was long gone. "Well he's not there quite yet, but thank you."

"Where is he?" The doctor asked, his pale blue eyes fixed on Kit. Gesturing out the door, she tiredly told him, "Jake is upstairs, I haven't checked on him this morning, but he was on the couch last night."

Nodding, the man disappeared out the battered door, his fading black suit the last thing she saw as Kit yawned involuntarily.

Sal watched her, his grey blue eyes amused, and his brown hair showing the first signs of age, peppering strands of grey. "You look like shit, Kitrina," She raised an eyebrow at this and he chuckled, pulling out a cigarette.

"Don't I always look like shit?" Kit said standing up and cracking her shoulder. He was leaning against her desk, looking more comfortable then she felt, and Kit enjoyed his company when she had it. "So how is Geoff?"

The amused look passed on Sal Maroni's face as he lit up the cigarette with a match, and he flat out said, "He didn't make the night. Falconi wanted his body gone, just like the others. He told me that if I had to get my own **shovel **and bury him, he would make me. We came up with a different plan. Apparently no one else lives in that building except for the owner. So, we got the owner down to the pub, few drinks, the man could probably drink a **beer barrel **before passing out though," Maroni paused to make a puff from the joint in his hand, "Anyways, after placing Geoff inside, the boys torched the place."

"Oh." It was all she could say as she imagined all the work they had done to cover up for her. It would be a large debt to repay.

"I saw the wreckage. What that kid left. It wasn't pretty." He locked eyes with her, and asked the question that had been running through his head all morning, "Why did you bring him back?"

With a sigh, she sat down again, "He…. The boy…." Kit buried her face in her hands, before quietly whispering, "Jake reminds me of her, of Sara." A look of regret passed Kit's face, as she mentioned her sister. It was still painful to think of her sister, even after all these years. Losing a loved one to the sins of the world was never easy, and Kit never forgot. The substance that had killed her had been laced with sometime much stronger, more potent and a thousand times more dangerous.

Pity was in Sal's eyes as he crossed the short distance to crouch by her bent form, pausing only to put down his cigarette in the underused ash tray on her desk. "Kit, you can't save people in Gotham. The city herself is the soul eater. Breeding crime, drugs, violence. You know that. You've never tried to save anyone since her, why save this kid now?"

She didn't have the chance to reply when a surprised yell was heard from upstairs. Both Sal and Kit's gazes shot towards the ceiling in unison and Kit was the first up and out of the room, with Sal fast on her heels. Scrambling up the stairs, the sight she came upon was one to be expected.

The doctor was being choked by Jake. Pausing in horror, with Sal at her shoulder, Kit couldn't help but stare. Jake's face was a mask of rage as his hands curled dangerously around the doctor's throat. His dark eyes were glinting and his cheeks bleed rivets of dark blood. The dark purple around his slightly swollen eyes was creating a horrifying effect. Throwing herself at Jake, she threw a punch at his face, and he only laughed at her as his head snapped back. Leaping into the fray, Sal gripped his wrists, trying to break the hold. Trying to save the doctor's life.

Seeing as her effort had been useless, and the doctor's face was growing more purple by the minute, Kit swung around looking for the case Pikes had come with. It was on its side, the contents scattered across the floor. Grabbing at a sterilized needle, she pulled off the cap and her eyes frantically searched for anything that looked like a sedative.

Clear bottles of liquid, tiny plastic pill cases, needles in every size, gauze, tape, scissors; there was everything she could imagine, but which one was the sedative? Her hands grabbed in a frenzy and Kit's brown eyes scanned the labels in hurried pace. Jake suddenly let go of the doctor, stumbling back from Sal. Kit glanced up momentarily at the movement, her eye catching the glint Jake's hand reached for. The switchblade.

He turned back, the same madness clouding his eyes as he threw himself at the Doctor again, only to find Sal in the way. "I'm not a freak!" Jake snarled, raising his arm to slash down on Doctor Pikes face. Sal shoved him, and the blade cut a long line into Maroni's arm instead.

"Hurry up Kit!" Sal shouted at her, his usually silky voice gruff. Steadying her hands, she measured out what she figured to be a proper amount, enough to make Jake calm. "I'm working on it!" Kit snapped back, drawing the sedative out of the glass bottle. Then the sickening laughter was heard.

"He he, HA HA, ho ho, he hum ha ho." Jake howled with mirth as he tightened his grip on the knife, veins standing out on the inside of his arms**. **_"Whatever you do, don't throw out the red one." Came his voice. In her mind, Kit wondered what red thing he was talking about. Nothing made sense as she staggered to her feet and lunged to Jake._

"Move!" Kit snarled at Sal, as she shoved him aside. Swiftly she stabbed the needle into the largest vein she could find on his arm, shooting the sedative in fast.

Stepping back with eyes wide, she couldn't believe how quickly it was working. Already his grip was loosening, and the frenzied movement slowed, his laugh dying down to a quiet giggle as Jake fell to the floor. As the sedative spread through his blood, Jake dropped the knife. Sal reached his hand out for the doctor to take. The man had fallen back, landing on the floor when Jake had attacked. Blood was dripping freely from the wound on Sal's arm and he quickly tried to stanch it with his hand.

Upon seeing the wound, Doctor Pikes set into action. Unbuttoning the cuffs, Pikes rolled back the selves of Maroni's shirt, revealing the clean cut. "Well this won't need stitches, Mr Maroni. You're lucky that knife was sharp. Where did he get it from anyways?" Dr. Pike sniffed disdainfully as he cleaned the wound.

Kit was silent for a moment, "I gave it to him after he broke in here."

Sal gave her an incredulous look, "Since when do you send criminals home with gifts?"

She gave him a smirk, "I send you home with gifts don't I?" Though the smile died away as she looked at Jake. Though he looked more peaceful now, Kit could see there needed to be something done.

"Touché," Maroni said with a smile, "But you have to get rid of him, he's dangerous."

"I can handle it. Besides, I can't let him loose on the world. Who knows what he'll do? Maybe he'd go on some killing spree after boys in school. The bullies that hurt him in 6th grade. I can't risk that, you know I wouldn't be able to do it." Kit told him. "I think I can sort him out, he'll be a help. He can work on the cars or something once he's better."

Sal sighed, "For a woman known for giving no mercy, you sure are nice to the ungrateful." He glanced at Jake. "Just keep him away from that buddy of yours."

"Who?" Kit tried pulling off the innocent face. Sal just shot her a look. Kit shrugged. She knew exactly who Sal was talking about. Edward Enigma, she'd known him since they were children, and he'd always drop by for poker night. He wasn't exactly a saint; to be honest he was far from it. But deep down he was good. He cared for some people… well maybe it was limited to the few friends and his only sister. A brilliant man who played mind games on the world. And to Gotham City… he was known as The Riddler.


End file.
